I was born and raised in Florida, about 110 miles from Orlando and 15 miles from Port St. Lucie. I left there a long time ago but my memories are fresh and fond of the Oceanside city where I grew up on its beaches and baseball fields.

Omar Mateen bought his AR-15 semi-automatic assault rifle in Port St. Lucie and drove to Orlando last week. On Sunday, he opened fire at the Pulse night club—killing 49 and wounding, at least, 53 others.

According to the National Rifle Association’s Wayne Lapierre, “the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun.” If only, every man and woman in Pulse had possessed a firearm themselves, because Lapierre says that this is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is an honorable man.

But Ronald Reagan was protected by the finest security detail the world has ever known, armed with Uzi submachine guns and Smith & Wesson Model 66 .357 Magnums loaded with hollow-point rounds. John Hinkley, the would-be assassin, was outnumbered 10:1 by the Presidential Praetorian Guard and still he almost killed the president. Lee Harvey Oswald did kill the president. John Wilkes Booth killed Abraham Lincoln who was guarded by soldiers from the Federal Army. But Wayne Lapierre says that everyone being armed is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is an honorable man.

But surely a military installation, where soldiers are armed to the teeth, must be the safest place in the world against shooters. But then there was Fort Hood in Texas. Army Major Nidal Hasan, an officer and a psychiatrist, killed 13 and wounded 30 more. Wayne Lapierre says that everyone being armed is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is an honorable man.

Omar Mateen legally bought the weapon. Passed background checks. Was born and raised in the United States. No present law and no law being currently proposed would have stopped him from obtaining the AR-15 assault rifle. The model Mateen used was known as the "Black Mamba," and it has a military-spec trigger and a magazine capacity of 30 rounds. And in Florida, one doesn’t even need a permit to buy, own and carry an assault rifle.

The AR-15 is one of the most popular, and most easily obtained, guns in America. In 2013, the National Sports Shooting Foundation estimated that there are somewhere between 5 million and 8.2 million assault weapons in circulation. Thank God, because, according to Wayne Lapierre, everyone being armed is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is an honorable man.

In a culture of violence, protecting ourselves through gun ownership is the most prudent way, right? Because when guns are legal, surely only the good guys will have guns. Is my logic flawed?

If only the good guys had possessed guns, the worst mass-shooting in US history could have been prevented. Right?

There are a few things wrong with that statement. The Washington Post’s Christopher Ingraham released a story on Sunday, June 12, calling the Pulse massacre “the deadliest mass shooting in US history.” He is wrong. He can be forgiven, I suppose, because he is young…and white. Why else would he forget the mass-shooting of nearly 300 African-Americans in Opelousas, Louisiana, in 1868? Thank the heavens that the “good guys” had all the weapons.

On December 29, 1890, 150-300 disarmed Lakota Sioux men, women and children were massacred at Wounded Knee by the white US Army. Among the white soldiers, 25 were killed and 39 wounded. Oh, yes. They were shot by their fellow soldiers. At least, 20 soldiers were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for their “bravery.” Once again, the “good guys” had the firearms, thus supporting Wayne Lapierre saying that the “good guys” being armed is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is an honorable man.

In 1917, in East St. Louis, 250-700 African-Americans were massacred by the white gun-owners. The St. Louis Globe-Democrat reported that 250 African-Americans were shot while fleeing their burning homes which had been set ablaze by the white mobs. All because African-American workers had been hired to replace white workers who had gone on strike.

A white riot erupted on May 28 only to be put down by the National Guard. On July 2, 1917, the violence resumed. African-American men, women, and children were beaten and shot to death. Around six o’ clock that evening, white mobs began to set fire to the homes of black residents. Residents had to choose between burning alive in their homes or run out of the burning houses, only to be met by gunfire. In other parts of the city, white mobs began to lynch African-Americans against the backdrop of burning buildings. As darkness came and the National Guard returned, the violence began to wane.

A year later, an investigation concluded that neither the police nor the National Guard had acted appropriately in the defense of the African-American community. But thank the stars that the white community was protected because they had all the firearms. And that, of course, is the only way for the “good guys” to protect themselves.

A thread begins to emerge. It must be in the very definition of “good guys.” Clearly, when Wayne Lapierre speaks of “good guys” and “bad guys,” he is speaking in terms of “us and them.” “They”, the “bad guys”, are the non-white, non-Christian, non-conservatives.

“Deadliest mass shooting in US history”…only if you’re counting white people. According to Wayne Lapierre, everyone being armed is the only effective protection, and Lapierre is…an idiot.

Muhammad Ali passed away on Friday, June 3, 2016. Of all the punches and jabs he landed in his storied career, his passing was the heaviest blow of all, equaling the intensity of the hit that landed George Foreman on his back in Zaire in 1974.

I was always a fan of Muhammad Ali. I liked the way he avoided being hit in the early part of his career. The photos of Sonny Liston missing Ali by 10-12 inches are still amazing. Boxers like Floyd Patterson and Liston simply didn’t know what to do to counter Ali’s unbelievable speed, his timing and his footwork. His hands were lightning fast and so was his thinking. Before Rap ever became a thing, Ali was rapping to his opponents and to anyone who would listen—and that was everyone.

He was disliked by the press for his fast-talking trash-talking. Even the African-American press ridiculed him. He was called "Louisville Lip," "Cash the Brash," and even "Gaseous Cassius." And that was just when he was talking about his opponents in the ring.

He called himself “pretty as a girl” and said he was beautiful. And that, right there, may have been the beginning of the late 60s slogan “Black is Beautiful.”

He had become instant friends with Malcolm X when the fighter heard Malcolm speak at a Nation of Islam meeting. Malcolm even stayed with Clay as the young contender trained to fight the champion Sonny Liston. While everyone else was predicting a knockout of Clay by Liston, Malcolm X declared that Clay would win. Malcolm said that Clay was “the finest Negro athlete I have ever known, the man who will mean more to his people than Jackie Robinson, because Robinson is the white man's hero."

Those words become prophetic.

Ali’s thinking was as fast as his footwork. He could slip a question with the ease of skipping rope. But he didn’t duck the questions or the insults when, after knocking out Sonny Liston and taking the heavyweight crown, he announced that he had converted to the Nation of Islam and had changed his name from Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jr. to Muhammad Ali. He was serious and he demanded that he be taken seriously.

It was the first time that an athlete changed his name from a “Christian” one to a “Muslim” one. It would happen again later when Lew Alcindor became Kareem Abdul-Jabbar or Keith Wilks became Jamaal Wilks but this was the explosive moment.To change one’s name is to change—at least, symbolically—one’s very self. Muhammad Ali was no longer a child of slavery. He was a man of destiny.

His courage was an unexpectedly huge influence on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Despite Ali’s aggressive speech, he was generous and warmhearted.

During that dreadful summer of 1964, however, 66 buildings, including churches, were bombed by the KKK and their kind. The politics of Black Power arose and Ali became a powerful symbol of that power and change. Uprisings in urban neighborhoods began.

NBC news anchor Bryant Gumbel said, "One of the reasons the civil rights movement went forward was that Black people were able to overcome their fear. And I honestly believe that for many Black Americans, that came from watching Muhammad Ali. He simply refused to be afraid. And being that way, he gave other people courage."

Things got really ugly, however, when, on April 28, 1967, boxing champion Muhammad Ali refused to be inducted into the U.S. Army and was immediately stripped of his heavyweight title. His boxing license was taken and his endorsements disappeared. Ali, cited religious reasons for his decision to refuse military service.

He was harangued by the press and even by students. Ali finally opened up completely and said, “My conscience won't let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what? They never called me n_____, they never lynched me, they didn't put no dogs on me, they didn't rob me of my nationality, rape and kill my mother and father. ... Shoot them for what? How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail.”

It was the most powerful thing he could have said. He looked at one white student, who was challenging Ali verbally about his anti-war stance, “The Viet Congs are not my enemy. YOU are my enemy. You want me to defend you there but you won’t defend me here!”

On June 20, 1967, (less than two months after refusing military service) Ali was convicted of draft evasion, sentenced to five years in prison, fined $10,000 and banned from boxing for three years. Ali appealed and appealed until his case was finally heard by the United States Supreme Court. The highest court in the land overturned his conviction.

In October of 1970, Ali was allowed to return to the ring when the state of Georgia granted him a boxing license. He knocked out Jerry Quarry in the third round.

But the three best years of a boxer’s prime had been taken away. The feet were not as fast, even if the hands were. In March of 1971, he fought and lost to Joe Frazier in the “Fight of the Century.”

Ali discovered that, even though his legs were not what they had once been, he could take a punch. He was pounded by Ernie Shavers, had his jaw broken by Ken Norton (and finished the fight!) and was pummeled for five rounds by that devastating puncher George Foreman.

And that have been what caused, or at least exacerbated, the 1984 diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease which would ultimately led to complications that caused his death just four days ago.

Through the declining years of his health, his mind was still quick and his humor sharp. And who can forget seeing him light the Olympic flame in the 1996 Atlanta Olympics? I jumped from my chair and cheered.

When I think of Muhammad Ali, I think of the man who spoke at length of love and the miracle in one’s heart. He was The Greatest.

Memorial Day is a strange day. It is a day that I wish need never be remembered or observed. The fact that such a commemoration is necessary speaks to the ills and failures of humanity.

To be certain, we rightfully honor those who gave “the last full measure of devotion,” as President Lincoln said in the Gettysburg Address. The fallen, whose memories we cherish and honor, served and gave their all.

President Lincoln wrote the following letter to Mrs. Bixby, whose five sons had died in battle during the American Civil War.

“Mrs. Bixby, Boston, Massachusetts:DEAR MADAM: I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.Yours very sincerely and respectfully,Abraham Lincoln.”

Solemn pride. Ridiculous. One can imagine that Mrs. Bixby would have rather watched the Republic go down in flames than to see the loss of five sons. Some say that she never read the letter, others say she destroyed the letter and still others claim the letter exists yet.

Death is never glorious. It is the end of life—no matter what you may believe may come next—and it is farewell to friends and family and all those we love.

The Roman poet Horace (Odes, III.2.13) wrote “Dolce et decorum est pro patria mori.” “It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country.” But almost two millennia later, Wilfred Owen—a British soldier in World War I—wrote the poem Dolce et Decorum est which was sent to his mother in 1917 while he still fighting in France. His poem reads as follows.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum estPro patria mori.

The old lie indeed. It is not sweet and it is not glorious to die for one’s country. Rather, is the soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen who are sweet and honorable. I have had family and friends who had the last full measure of devotion robbed from them. On Memorial Day, I do not think of their “last full measure of devotion.” I think of them and honor them and curse the old fools who sent them off to die.